


Date With the Night

by rispacooper



Category: due South
Genre: Angst, Biting, Bloodplay, Blow Jobs, First Time, Gothic, Hand Jobs, M/M, Slash, Vampire Sex, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-14
Updated: 2011-04-14
Packaged: 2017-10-18 01:50:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/183652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rispacooper/pseuds/rispacooper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s not possible.” I could hear myself reassuring Ray at another long clinic visit. He hadn’t even wanted to go, as though it were nothing that Dief had led me to him, unconscious and bleeding in that warehouse, white as death on the dirty floor of a back room.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Date With the Night

**Author's Note:**

> For those who haven’t read Bram Stoker: in the original story, *spoiler warning* Dracula is actually killed by the big Bowie knife the American is carrying. Forget all those Winona Ryder shenanigans. And I done stole the title from a song by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs.

November, 1997

In mid October in Chicago there was usually a chill in the air, an icy edge to the strong winds that promised winter, and in autumns past I had welcomed the bite at my skin, delighted in the shivers that reminded me of home. But today I barely noticed the cold, only shuddering reflexively to see the pale cast to evening sky, to hear the nail scraping sounds of millions of dead leaves whirling around me.

Dief stayed at my side, not bounding ahead though that place was familiar to him from our visit months before, when the trees had bloomed as brightly as the offerings of daisies and roses spread out over the centuries-old stones. He didn’t bother step respectfully around the spaces allotted for souls resting in peace as I did; he never strayed from his course as I wished to do, had contemplated doing since I had left Ray’s apartment.

I had no proof. I knew my argument well. I had no proof Ray had returned here, no logical proof—the kind I had once solely relied upon. This was only the heavy weight in my stomach, something that Ray might have once called gut instinct. The same instinct that had led Ray to the warehouse full of what he had called “wannabe punks” and their strange, dark music. The same instinct that had led Ray back to this place.

Try though I might I couldn’t detect any sounds that usually signified Ray’s presence, and the thick, patient silence in the air around me had seemed like another fateful omen, as much a warning as the unlocked door to Ray’s apartment.

There weren’t any groups of mourners, though I could see a thin plume of smoke rising from a candle recently extinguished, the grinning skull painted on the wax melted mostly away.

Elsewhere families would be sitting around tables for their evening meals, the children anticipating their yearly ritual of putting on costumes and visiting their neighbors to threaten mischief and be placated with sweets. Some would be pink fairies and cowboys, but others would dress as dark things, creatures seen only in American movies and on candles for the dead, as dark as wannabe punks with red-stained lips and pale, glowing skin. And some, older children maybe, or those that Ray might have called freaks—people who should know better, would come here and shiver as I did.

I could see the crypt, the broken glass and moss-covered marble marked with years of dirt and neglect, and let out a breath, curling my hands at my sides. My palm stung but I did not relax my grip.

It was the kind of toy available at any store this time of year. Meaningless to anyone else, but the gaping white teeth dug into my flesh as soft plastic shouldn’t have been able to do, still wet with spit and a trace of blood.

Fall was the season for tricks, for childish memories, and I pressed my other fist to my side, where as a child I had always kept my Bowie knife, forever prepared. I had been forbidden to hunt, forbidden to venture into the forest alone, to stay up late into the night and shiver at the words of Shelley and Stoker. But I had wanted to do all those things, had been irresistibly drawn to them, knowing that along with the beasts and snow demons, the howling Wendigo, there were others out there, watching me from the shadows and waiting for me to seek them out.

I no longer carried that knife, and had never been more grateful to not carry a weapon in my hands as I was then. I wondered if they were shaking again as I heard Ray’s command once more in my ears, “Just stay away from me, Fraser!”

I gasped aloud, listening to the frantic hammering of my heart in my ears. If I held still, perhaps I could hear something, see some sign of life… I could not finish that thought, not with the crypt so close. I remembered the smell of the place, the dry, stale air, the imaginary taste of decay landing on my tongue like particles of dust. It did not have the medicinal odor of the morgue that Ray had always hated, but it was just as much a home for the departed, and Ray was inside. And though he had told me to leave him alone, I could again see his eyes, urging me nearer, just a little closer to the edge of the path, as they had always done.

For a moment weakness in my legs stopped me, and my stomach heaved. I had barely known Ray when he had jumped in front of the bullet meant for me—the last time I had felt this sickness, my vision shifting too quickly, and once again I had been given no time to adjust.

Dief whined next to me, bringing my attention back to the moment. His fur was up, his eyes far too aware.

Plastic stabbed into my palm when I would have reached down to him. And though I could have called out, my mouth would not form the proper words. Another failure, another weight to bury me alive, choking on the bitter taste of earth.

I had seen his agitation building, had lusted over the brilliantly electric aura of tension surrounding Ray, blinded so much by his beauty and my need to hide my reaction that I had missed seeing how stretched Ray had been, how close to breaking.

I turned my face into the wind and felt the frozen sting on my dry eyes, my parched lips. Amid the brown and grey I stood out, blazing red, and I could almost feel the disgust in Ray’s eyes pouring over me once more, his head arching up, his fierce eyes falling down, not seeming to notice the shaken form huddled beneath him.

“I can’t even look at you…” His words had not just stung, they had been like daggers, bullets, and hail of heavy lead and cold silver. And that pain paled next to my confusion when he had turned away, forcing me to remember that even when he had been furious, _scared_ , enough to hit me, Ray had stared directly at my face.

I closed my eyes and stood there at the entrance, counting my breaths just as I had on the threshold of Ray’s apartment.

The Lieutenant hadn’t needed to send me, I would have gone on my own, been compelled to at that broken plea from Ray, and yet still I had paused, swallowing to find the door unlocked, partially open, thinking only that Ray had done that on purpose too, for I needed no invitation to cross inside.

Once in I had wished myself anywhere else, confronted with the irrefutable evidence of Ray’s distress, his despair; the torn, uneaten packages of chocolates, the rotting and untouched cartons of take-out, the dusty coffee-maker. Normal perhaps for anyone else not concerned with cleanliness, but markers of illness for Ray, of soul-twisting sickness.

“It’s not possible.” I could hear myself reassuring Ray at another long clinic visit. He hadn’t even wanted to go, as though it were nothing that Dief had led me to him, unconscious and bleeding in that warehouse, white as death on the dirty floor of a back room.

“Goddamn freaks,” he’d sworn at them in absentia later, though he claimed no memory of the attack itself, not seeming to notice how closely I had watched his red-stained lips push the words out.

Antibiotics and tetanus shots, a few stitches with a local anesthetic that hadn’t even made Ray flinch. _I_ had been the one tense at the sight of the needle puncturing his skin. The splash of pink into the syringe was nothing to dark crimson of his blood I had had to wash from my fingers after the ambulance had arrived on the scene, but still I stared at it with loathing. So I had reached out, needing to feel the heat of Ray’s back in my hand and he had turned his head up to look at me, mocking me a little with his sharp smile, but still smiling, and I had only stared back at his bright eyes, the radiance of his skin.

And later, when Ray’s eyes had grown tired circles beneath them from days without sleep, when he had consumed nothing more than handfuls of candy for over a week and flinched at noises that even I had not heard, and made whispered, unsmiling jokes about spooks and goblins and vampires, I had stood there with the ghost of my father at my back and told him that such things were not possible.

Ray had leaned into me, needing my help and I had felt only my own shuddering weakness to have him so close, the need to get away from how he made my heart race before he could notice.

I had never carried a Bowie knife for protection, I had told him, lied, and Ray must have shivered under his bedcovers while reading the forbidden stories too, because he had turned almost into my arms and our eyes had locked until I had looked away first. My gaze fell to the square, white bandage taped to the side of his neck, and I felt his eyes fall as well, heard him swallow, sticky and slow, his breath coming faster. When I had lifted my eyes, Ray had been leaning into me, drifting as slowly as a sleeping man.

Even exhausted, it was like someone had somehow taken Ray’s beauty and made it shine unnaturally lovely, like Renaissance paintings with gold flecks and ground up lapis lazuli; an already beautiful subject suddenly brilliant with unearthly color. His energy, his eyes, his hair, they had all been evident to me before but suddenly it was as though others would see it too, startling enough to turn heads on the street.

And now I could only wonder if that was why, if they had seen the beautiful impatience of a race horse in him, at his best when challenged, but that thought was nothing, inconsequential when compared to how I had finally dared, granted the reckless sort of courage I was often criticized for by the very sight of this transformed Ray leaning into me. I had let myself move forward and then Ray was breathing hard and shaking his head. He pushed out and put his hands up in a silent warning I had seen before given to others, to back off, to back the fuck off me, Fraser, please, and I had obeyed, looking away from his frightened eyes.

I had only seen the flash of color, the black and gold of Ray’s shirt and jeans, his hair, the deadly, graceful swing over the desk, through the air. Even with my eyes following Ray I had only seen blurred glimpses of the quick movement, the impossibly quick movement, not one paper disturbed as he had leapt across the bullpen and put one hand to Huey’s chest.

One motion, one bare, slight push and I could feel the hard metal edge of the desk at my back as Huey must have felt it, pressing painfully into his kidneys. I could see the breath leave his lungs, see his mouth wide open and gasping, his head still turning to see what had attacked him as Ray shoved him backwards onto his own desk.

The room had caught up with the action in the seconds after that, silent but for Huey’s needy gasps for air, the fall of one wooden pencil to the ground as Ray leaned over Huey and held the man down with one hand.

I had not seen Ray’s face, not in those moments, but I had seen the whites of Huey’s eyes as Ray had bent over him, his hands coming up to wrap around Ray’s wrist, unable to move it. The curve of Ray’s back, the way he jerked when I recalled myself enough to call his name, they were as blurred in my mind as the moments before Ray’s leap, but I could remember vividly when Ray’s lips had opened. They had been full and dark, as though he had bitten them, and while my mind had been trying to process that, Ray had turned his head to look at me.

Distantly, I was aware that I had loosened my grip and dropped the set of fake vampire teeth to the ground somewhere at my feet. I was littering, but I did not bend to search for them, wanting to forget the sight of them as much as Huey had, spitting them from his mouth afterward, frowning and yelling to disguise how he had been trembling. He had not met anyone’s gaze, and I wondered if he had seen it too, the hunger in Ray’s face. He had picked up the pencil from the floor, and looked at me. His hand gave the pencil a considering heft, and he held it the way Ray might hold his gun.

The wind was picking up, the sun setting early at some point to the west, and the shadows of gravestones crept toward the marble building in front of me. Diefenbaker gave another low whine, as though he knew what I was thinking. He pointedly nosed the door.

I had reached for Ray, my hands unsteady, and Ray’s face had twisted to something I had never seen on him before, raw agony, and I heard him panting, snarling like a wild thing. “Just stay away from me, Fraser. I can’t…I can’t even _look_ at you without…”

But I couldn’t; Ray had to understand.

The wind stirred my hair, whistling shrilly in my ears the way it shook the trees in dark woods at night, and I pushed on the stone door and felt my way inside the unlit crypt, trying not to turn around when the door closed behind me and the noise of the wind outside was muted to almost nothing.

There were still a few fading streams of sunlight coming in through the filthy windows, high above the small alcove where Ray had temporarily locked up the offenders he’d captured while waiting for Ellery. The air was colder than outside and I could almost smell the stone.

I had to stop to let my eyes adjust, and heard the sounds of Dief carrying on ahead. I lost sight of him in the darkness and turned my head, making out the outlines of weeping angels and the long tomb that lined one wall. On my other side there were more statues on the raised dais where I had first sat next to Ray and assured him of his innate bravery and innocence. Things I had taken less than a day to see about Ray, I reminded myself, reminding myself as well that somewhere Dief was laying at his feet.

I held out my empty hands to protect myself and stepped forward.

“Go away, Fraser.” My breath caught to hear Ray’s voice, to know he was there and close to me. I held still. Squinting did not grant me the ability to see in the dark, but I tried regardless, tried to find him.

There was a slight echo; Ray’s voice could have come from anywhere, and I angled my head, trying to track the sound. There was still no visible sign of him, and I moved impatiently, suddenly wishing there were candles, needing to lay my eyes upon Ray.

It was cold in the crypt, and Ray had never liked the cold. I hadn’t thought to bring a coat for him, and though it seemed foolish, I wished I had.

“Get out, Fraser, I mean it.” Ray’s voice sought me out once more, raised in anger, and for a moment I hesitated, letting Ray hear how fast and heavy my breathing was. I could see him again, poised over Huey, tense and coiled, straining _not_ to move. I had seen hints of that in him before, even on the day here with Ellery, when despite everything he had chosen not to act on the wildness of his nature.

And it _was_ his nature, violence and passion released carefully in small, safe diatribes against criminals, the threatened kick to the head that we had all grown used to and so forgotten the danger. I knew those thoughts were going to seize me again later, more what ifs, more wondering what they had seen in him, how they had chosen him for this. If they had meant it a gift and not a curse.

I let my mouth fall open, and felt the rush of air as something stirred in the blackness all around me.

“I mean it!” In my mind there was a sharp, pointed glimpse of teeth as Ray lunged for me, his lips drawn back in a snarl, the display of a predator warning me away, and I felt the trickle of heat down my back at the mammalian show of dominance. I tried to focus on that thought to calm myself. Of warm blooded animals, and the variety of species, the reality, not the pages of a Victorian novel.

My feet stayed where they were, but I jumped a little, knew I did when the rusty iron gate at the alcove swung open, striking one wall with an unholy crash. Just that, and a moment later, a long, slow sigh followed by the familiar whuffling sound of Diefenbaker settling in for a nap.

“Dumb wolf never listens to me either,” Ray complained, perhaps to himself. His voice was soft and I wanted to see him so badly I stepped forward again. I heard the scraping of feet this time, as though Ray had hurriedly backed up, and I froze.

“Actually, Ray, if many of the tales are correct, he has to obey you.” I cleared my throat, passing my hand over my face at how foolish I must sound, especially considering that Dief had done no such thing. Ray made a strange sound, like a laugh without humor.

“Tales, huh? You got some caribou story about this for me, Fraser?” He did not mock me gently. The words stung, like the autumn air on my cheeks, and I turned my face away, looking down at the vague shape of my boots.

“No, Ray,” I answered him at last, knowing what he was really asking. I had no more knowledge of this than what he might have had, watching the movies and glancing at comic book illustrations. Oh, I knew the origins of the myth, the theories of disease and superstition, rabies, porphyria, about people in the Middle Ages being prematurely buried, but those were no help to Ray. He had already destroyed a few of those ideas by simply walking to this crypt in broad daylight, in resting in a place undoubtedly consecrated—in warning me away. I should have known that Ray’s fear wasn’t for himself.

I thought of something else, that Ray’s “punks” hadn’t been under suspicion of anything more serious than trespassing for their party until Ray had busted into the warehouse looking for someone else entirely. There had been no evidence of any violence at all until I had found Ray passed out on the ground, blood spilling from a wound in his neck, his mouth wet.

The tears in his skin had not been smooth, not the two perfect circles seen in the movies, but raw, swollen holes, and I had slapped a hand over them, trying to stop the flow of blood out, ignoring all of my first aid training to first find something to act as a shield between the slick, dark fluid and myself. I had felt it run through my fingers, each pulse of blood slipping from him. Ray’s life, _Ray_ , disappearing in front of me while I had watched. His eyes had not opened, not until I had bent over to listen for his breath, my lips at his cheek, his breath smelling hot and sharp.

“What is it?” Ray shifted and my head came up; I half-expected him to be right in front of me. He remained hidden however, but there was knowledge in his voice that should not have been there, a trace of alarm he was fighting not to show. I felt the same bright anxiety in my chest, urging me to keep going.

“I thought…” For a moment I couldn’t breathe. I closed my eyes and without distractions I could hear Ray’s breath hitch, as though he could see what I did. I thought of owls and wolves and other creatures of the night and opened my eyes, tried not to look for him too obviously. “I am very glad you didn’t die, Ray,” I told him, and took another step, stopping at the edge of the dais; more certain that Ray _could_ see me when he moved again, as though he was trying to move backward for every step I took.

“Yeah well I was hardly gonna die, was I, Fraser?” His snarl was unexpected, far too loud in the echoing tomb, and his short laugh brought the hairs up one the back of my neck, along my arms. I could have closed my eyes again, knowing I didn’t need to see to imagine Ray’s pain, the confusion that had kept him awake and restless for over a week. I pictured him sitting, or leaning against those walls, watching me with his face turned partly to the stone. If I had been near him I could have reached out and touched him, let my fingers find his mouth.

My heart jumped, and as though he was right before me I saw his eyes snap open, and focus on me, intense even in the dark. I exhaled and the vision of Ray vanished as though he were already part of the darkness.

“They afraid of me?” I nearly missed Ray’s quiet question, but there was no mistaking the fear. It _was_ fear, not the false disbelief that made Ray yell at me when I suggested perfectly logical alternatives to his plans, alternatives he always performed admirably. This had been a rough edge to his voice, the slight lilt at the end that begged me for an answer to something he already knew.

It was a testament of Ray’s faith in me that he continued to ask my help when I had already failed him so badly. I chose truth again, and nodded. I heard him swallow.

“And…” he spoke before I could try to qualify that, to explain their shock, the confusion that had silenced even Francesca. But they had all seen him stop himself, pull back. They knew the truth of Ray’s nature as much as I did, surely. I tried not to think of Huey and the pencil; I didn’t want that particular fear to be on my face. But it seemed Ray already carried that worry with him.

“And how ‘bout you, Fraser?” Ray put the question to me unfairly, when I knew he could see me and I was alone in the dark. “You think I’m a freak too?”

I thought of Ray’s eyes on me again, light but fierce blue, and felt the trickle down my back once more, the only warmth in the crypt. My pulse grew faster, and I put my hand up, holding onto the arm of an angel to stay on my feet. I cleared my throat but could not speak.

I nodded slowly and then words came too late, stumbling and unclear. “Not in the sense that I believe you mean, Ray.” He sighed and then made a rude noise of frustration, as though he was not surprised by my answer, and I imagined the familiar Ray gesture of tearing at his hair, throwing his hands up as he sought the right words.

“Ray?” I asked when he said nothing and he sighed again; of all the varieties of Ray’s expressions, this one usually signified capitulation. I found that idea comforting, my knowledge a small link I still had to Ray.

“I can…I can smell it…on you.” Ray spoke as though his hand were pressed to his mouth and I had pictured him seated, his back to the wall, his head against the stone as he looked up, prayed, if Ray were the type to pray.

My head came up immediately, my excitement spiking, leaving me thirsty and trembling. I formed several questions in my mind and decided finally on none of them.

“Yes, well, as I may have mentioned, Ray, pheromones are an integral part of the most basic animal instincts. They govern more than most people are even aware.” I thumbed my eyebrow, pressing on gamely as Ray listened from the shadows. “Fight or flight response—fear…” When Ray said nothing I hurried precipitously on. “…To mating and attraction and…”

I felt my heart rate and breathing spike again, and shot my eyes around, seeking some sign of Ray, if he had smelled—heard—seen—my reaction. For a long time there was nothing, and I wished myself back in my bed as a child, safely buried under covers and hidden from watching eyes.

“You should go, Fraser.” Ray released me, telling me to leave with the same tired finality that had haunted me in the hours before our adventure with the _Robert Mackenzie_. My agreeing to leave had resulted in near disaster, and I could not let that happen again.

“I won’t, Ray.” I took my hand from the angel and stood straight, as unyielding as a guard on duty and if Ray could see me then he would know just how serious I was. There was little use in hiding under blankets when the creature watching from the shadows could hear my very heart beat, and knew me perhaps better than I knew myself.

“Why the hell not?” Ray practically howled at me, and strangely, the sound made me want to smile. Because this was Ray, and Ray occasionally whined, even if no other creature of the night would ever bother. I heard movement, the clicking of Dief’s claws perhaps, but enough to make me lick my lips and put a hand to my side.

The rusted iron gate swung closed with a sudden crash, startling me, but I caught no glimpse of Ray or Dief. There was no wind in the crypt.

I thought of my Stoker, but it did not matter if the dead did travel fast. Ray was not dead. I knew that with every fast, furious breath I took, with each wild glance into the dark for his face, with my racing heart. I felt those things for Ray, sparklingly alive and furious Ray. I always had.

“Everybody else is scared of me, Fraser.” Ray arguing spared me for a hot, unbearable moment, but I knew my skin was growing warm, and I shook my head.

“You still have your badge and gun,” I countered blindly, knowing how Ray much valued his detective’s shield. In spite of his pretense otherwise, Ray lived his life to serve and protect. That would never change.

The dark seemed to flicker in front of me, and for the first time, I saw him, just his silhouette for a moment, haloed in the lingering blue light of sunset coming through the windows.

His skin struck me first, as while and luminous as a pearl, and then his eyes, which seemed as light as a wolf’s, but so much harder. I thought again of jewels, with his sapphire eyes and ruby lips, the crowning gold of his hair, and then he grinned, a cool, beautiful, mocking grin, and I saw his teeth, the dagger-sharp canines.

I wondered distantly if it was my imagination that made those seem more prominent.

Ray stepped out of the light before my frozen mind could even begin to reason out an answer, and I tried to blink, to focus on his clothing, the ordinary t-shirt and jeans, his shoulder holster.

“A gun?” he asked me, almost laughing. Then he gaze fell and he turned his face from me, reminding me of his earlier words shouted across the precinct. He put his hands flat on the wall and his back curved into a tense bow.

“You really think I need a gun, Fraser?” He put the question to me quietly, panting as though he had been running down a suspect for blocks. His head came up, but his eyes stayed on the bare wall.

I could not take my eyes off him, what had been done to him. Ray as I knew him was there, but along with something else, something _more_ that I hadn’t wanted to name before. He was radiantly beautiful, like the fabled treasures of the East, the kind of legend thought to be only that, a legend, yet still luring the foolish to their deaths.

He had always been strong, lean and fierce, graceful when he tried hard to be, clumsy when his feelings took hold of him. Angry. Devoted. He had hidden himself here where he thought he belonged, but there was no hiding anything about him. The fascination I had always felt for him was now a thing for the world to see. All the best of Ray and all of the worst. Inescapable. Irresistible.

I could not scent as Ray seemed able to, but I could follow the exhaustion in his every move, knew how his mind had grabbed hold of a thousand horrors and driven him to despair, and I moved before I could stop myself.

“We will find a way, Ray,” I vowed, swallowing any other thoughts I might have. “We will figure out what happened to you and we will cure you.”

“Cure me?” Rand’s hands on the wall curled in on themselves, he half-turned to face me, his gaze darting to the floor. “And what if the scary thing is…if the not-so-scary thing is…that I like it, Fraser?”

“You…?” I couldn’t finish I was so short of breath, but Ray looked up and I got caught in the gaze blazing through the darkness.

“I can smell…hear…” He gestured at his head with one hand and the typically vague action seemed full of meaning. “…Finally know what it must feel like to be you.”

It wasn’t quite a joke, not with the way he took his eyes from me once more, his voice falling flat. Without his gaze on me I could breathe, but I was cold, shivering alone in the thick black air and waiting. I scarcely knew what I was waiting for, and wondered if Ray would tell me more, or tell me to leave again, or simply seize me and put his teeth to my neck.

I closed my mouth, just stifling my moan, but Ray jerked away from the wall, spinning wildly in my direction. His eyes drank every drop of me.

“Only I got this _hunger_ , Fraser.” Ray’s voice rasped, and he touched his chest, somewhere between his heart and his stomach. He did not stop his intent study of me, and my eyes widened, my legs much too weak to allow me to leave—even if I had wanted to.

 _Courted danger_ , my superiors had once said of me. _In love with goddamn danger_ , Ray had put it more bluntly, and looking at him now, I had to acknowledge that partial truth.

“Hunger, Ray?” I responded at last, his voice changed as well. He nodded slowly, and slid his tongue out to wet his shining lips.

“It’s like I need something, and I need it bad. Like I could never get enough. You understand that kind of hunger, Fraser?” he asked me, and if he knew the answer already, he should not have looked at me as he did.

“Yes, Ray.” I hardly knew my own voice but Ray spoke as though it wasn’t my voice he was listening to.

“Like maybe it was always there, but it’s stronger now. And even when I try—and I try, Fraser—to fight it, to go away and think about what I’m _supposed_ to think about, I _can’t_.” His voice cracked.

 _Don’t_ , I wanted to tell him and found my mouth too dry. My chest locked tight, trying to forestall my insanity.

“And when I try,” Ray went on unsteadily, relentlessly. “When I try it makes it so much worse.”

I could only imagine what worse meant for Ray, when even shadows under his eyes were lovely.

“I can hear them. “ He would not stop, and I didn’t even know if I wanted him to. “Heartbeats, Fraser,” he clarified and tossed his head, looking feral once more. “Hear ‘em, and the sound is the truth.” Ray’s hand went out, slapping the stone walls so hard he should have felt the pain.

He didn’t even soften his voice.

“I can smell it too, hot, like smoke in the air. On people, moving fast under their skin…” Ray finally stopped, shuddering slightly and closing his eyes so I couldn’t see what was reflected in them. But I knew, understood the loneliness of such forbidden wanting.

I stayed on my feet through force of will alone, but I could have dropped to my knees easily, and felt myself shaking. A knife would never have protected me from this.

“And you, Fraser.” Ray angled his head to the side and I froze. “You’re the worst.” He threw the words at me. “I look at you standing there in that uniform, the red on your skin… And you’re running, you’re breathing hard...and you’re just _standing_ there…”

“Yes?” It was my foolishness that I had to know, mine when I was already picturing what Ray was telling me, but Ray said it anyway, opening his eyes.

“It’s like I can hear you, Fraser. Just you,” he whispered, flinching but not hiding. “Like you—it—is calling to me.” He licked his lips again and I knew his hunger.

I dug my fingers tight into my palms and exhaled. There was no noise from the corners of the crypt, and any ghosts who wished to speak were strangely silent. I looked for my courage again, and found it. Ray would not suffer more for my cowardice.

“That…that was not my blood, Ray,” I confessed, wishing my words would take flight, but they only remained trapped between stone angels. Ray was completely still.

Like I always did, had done since our first meeting, I watched as Ray worked over what I had said. I saw the frown leave his face after a restless, sickening moment, and then his radiant eyes found mine.

I felt my heart thud heavily once as he filled my sight and then I gasped as I was thrust backward, the air leaving me as I was shoved against the solid weight of the tomb.

It hurt, and for precious seconds the black around me glittered with stars, but I put my hands up, a defensive move from somewhere in my training. I felt my hands instantly slapped away as if they were nothing, and shifted, still trying to suck in air. I managed to bring myself up again, on my feet until I simply _wasn’t_ any longer, but was sitting or leaning across the tomb, with Ray’s hands tight around my wrists, trapping them at my sides. The stone was cold on my palms, not much warmer than Ray’s touch.

It was his breath that was hot, and I looked up as he spoke into my ear, not quite imagining the feel of teeth.

“Ray.” I was breathless, holding carefully still, and pressed to my side was Ray, and I knew he was listening to the quick, aroused beat of my heart. And both of us knew that if he dropped his head an inch, his mouth would rest over my pulse point.

One of us shook violently, but neither moved, not until Ray made a slight noise, needy and gasping. I echoed it.

“You should go, Fraser,” he warned me, pushing his way between my legs, and I heard him inhale sharply. I did not want to imagine what he scented on me, if he was thinking of when he had smelled this on me before, if he knew it had been for him.

“I…I can’t, Ray.” I still only whispered the truth, but then, Ray would hear me. His fingers flexed around my wrists, but I don’t think he was even aware that he was holding me down with hardly any effort. His lips slid open, like silk against my skin. His breath was damp.

“Please, Fraser,” he begged, and when I could only shake my head and did not even attempt to break his hold on me, a choked exclamation tore through him.

His fingers gripped hard enough to bruise, squeezing close to breaking, and I leaned my head back. I tried to look at him, but only saw the way he was bent over me, his mouth following my movements helplessly. He sighed, but I felt his heart beat in his chest, pressed close to mine.

“I can’t.” Ray was quiet as he had refused what everything in him had wanted, his breath stuttering, and then his fingers went wide, releasing me.

I felt my skin prickle, but didn’t move, just feeling Ray’s breath against my shoulder. His hands went gently to my sides, and I felt his lips beneath my ear.

“Fraser…” he argued without understanding me, his strength gone. His eyelashes fluttered in my hair as he closed his eyes. I couldn’t help arching up, pressing myself to the shaking mass of Ray’s body, feeling the barely-controlled strength that he would not use.

It was not my blood calling to Ray, but he was welcome to it.

“There is not a kiss I would not welcome from you, Ray.” I made myself speak the invitation, my lips barely moving, and shivered in something like ecstasy to feel the hard points of his teeth press into me.

I felt something move at my throat, brush softly on my skin, and frowned as I realized he was sliding my serge open, enough to expose my neck, his actions graceful as though he had thought often of undressing me, though perhaps not for that purpose. I could not stop shaking, but I was not the only one, and nowhere in any of my secret novels had the victim ever been so willing a participant in their own potential damnation.

“Ray.” I lifted my hand and put it on his chest, wondering if Ray felt my burning, or if it was the chill of the crypt seeping into him. Ray did not belong among the dead. Not Ray. “Blood is life, Ray,” I tried to tell him, “and mine is yours.” But if he heard, if I even said the words, it was all lost in the wet, possessive seal of Ray’s lips on my throat, the first, agonizing seconds as teeth punctured my skin.

The darkness seemed to flare with light, a blur of black and gold, silence sliced with my rough, harsh breathing; my cries of pain stayed locked in my throat as Ray’s hands came to rest on my face, held me still as he pushed further into me.

I heard the jangle of his bracelet, heard him inhale through his nose, and then he slowly pulled out of me, and that burned too, an unbearable loss. I barely breathed, only aching as the warm flood spilled down over my skin, onto my uniform. For a moment the hot, sharp scent was between us. I smelled on it on his lips for the second time, and even as I had the thought and acknowledged fully the danger, I leaned back.

“Fraser,” Ray said, and shuddered as he put his mouth to my neck.

The rasping slide of his tongue, the heat, his fingers petting gently at my cheek, the first greedy pull as Ray drank from me. It was all Ray, the sweetest pain, and I loved it.

My head lolled farther back, my body falling onto the stone tomb, unprotesting when Ray followed me, leaned over me, his gun a heavy, pointed threat we both ignored as insignificant. His hands roamed across my chest, under my back, leaving me burning where they left, and he grunted when I turned my head, allowing him more.

He was aroused, so I put my hands there, not turning when he jerked and seemed startled that I would want that too, still not understanding, so I rubbed hard through his jeans, hard as well when he finally moaned into my neck. I felt his tongue pushing at my wounds, tormenting the throbbing flesh and I ran my fingers through his hair, gripping tight at the exquisite pain, pleased when I heard him swallow.

Ray was solid and real, beyond beautiful and alive. I rolled between his thighs and Ray licked stray drops of my blood from my shoulder, driving strong against my body. He was impatient, hungry, and so was I, and ripped at his jeans to feel his skin.

The stone was cold, but Ray was warm at last, raging like demon fire above me, shining like gold, and then he was arching up, tearing his mouth from me to cry my name, his seed pulsing and sticky in my lap, his lips stained dark red and his skin glowing.

My hands fell back to my sides when he was spent but he did not fall back; he only looked at me, his eyes still hungry.

If I closed my eyes it would have been the same to suddenly see him vanish, to then feel him crouched over me, his head between my legs, his hands too quick for me to see. I could only pant and thrust into the ravenous need of his mouth, rocking, shaking with every glancing hint of those teeth. I pushed up regardless, flirting with danger, letting him drain me dry, begging him to. And when the last light slid from the windows, Ray shifted over my weak body, licking hot trails over my collar, my throat.

I almost raised a hand, but somehow knew I no longer bled. Ray had been gentle.

“Fraser,” Ray spoke into my ear and I turned toward him. He could see me, see everything, and yet it was my turn to be surprised when his mouth covered mine, his teeth safely tucked away. I could taste my semen, my blood, and felt my own heavy breathing, knew Ray was not cold anymore.

He pulled away and I brought one hand up, feeling around until I found his hair, enjoying his ticklish shiver. When that didn’t earn me even the faintest sign of protest, I traced one ear, and then worked my fingers over the now-smooth skin of his neck, amazed at the lack of scarring. He shivered again, and I moved my hand, let it come to rest over his heart. It beat, and I smiled faintly.

“Forever is a long time, Fraser,” Ray murmured suddenly, letting my other hand stroke his back, and I did not pretend to misunderstand him as I had done so often in the past. I nodded and thought it over. He was not dead as the stories had suggested, and he did not kill to feed, and he had walked freely in the sun. He also had more power and beauty than most men would think to dream of. But all of that meant nothing to Ray, without this. I did not think they knew that when they chose Ray.

“Understood, Ray,” I promised him, and the wind picked up outside, bringing more cold in with it. Ray felt warm at my side.

“You know, Fraser,” Ray went on softly and turned to lie on his back, his body pressed to mine. “You coulda said something before.” Even in the dark, I felt his brief, accusing stare. Before I had a chance to try to explain myself, Ray laughed to himself, shaking against me. “Even if you do taste good.”

I thought perhaps my cheeks were stinging, for somehow I didn’t think Ray was referring to my blood at all. But I said nothing, just enjoying Ray’s dark amusement.

I decided that, as in so many things, the facts in old books did not apply to Ray, or to me, and certainly not to this, and that I would tell him that later as we sought an answer. But for the moment I was content to lie there with him on cold stone in our old crypt and know that I had given Ray a chance to rest peacefully at last.


End file.
